


Allhallowtide

by FrangipaniFlower



Series: Time and Tide [1]
Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Halloween, Love, PTSD, Recovery, pre S6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: S6 starts a few days earlier here, so Keane isn’t elected yet.Quinn lives in Carrie‘s basement, threw the mug, the Why-scene happened - and this is where this story starts.If only.Happy Halloween.





	Allhallowtide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elim_garak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elim_garak/gifts), [Gnomecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnomecat/gifts).



> Written for gnomecat‘s Halloween 2017 prompt.
> 
> Unbeta-ed, so forgive my mistakes.

It’s his first few days at Carrie‘s house. He threw a mug at her yesterday and tonight she came to talk to him. And showed him the video.

She stormed out then, crying. And he didn’t know what to do. There’s a lump in his chest that wouldn‘t go away and he wished she‘d stayed. But that’s not new. This longing for her is the only thing which hasn’t changed. He is beyond broken, can barely move or talk on some days, a stuttering mess, ever since he came out of the coma - but this is the one thing which connects the before and the after and tells him that it’s really himself and not some fucked up cloning clinical trial.

So lies in bed, awake, trying not to think about the gas chamber. The pain, feeling his lungs obstructing, knowing he fucking miscalculated, the whole world will see this, she will see this and will feel she has to shoulder the guilt, so many people will die, his bladder evacuating, his eye lids vellicating, bowels purging, muscles cramping, can‘t breathe, can‘t flee-

 _Fuck_.

He snaps out of his flashback, his face contorted from pain, his lungs fighting for oxygen, waves of nausea slowly ebbing off, cold sweat on his skin.

He wishes he could roll on his side, fall asleep and just vanish, never wake up again. And it’s a fucked up irony that she is the only thing holding him back. Because he knows that this would ultimately break her.

So he‘s still here, in his very own purgatory, and it’s kind of fitting that it’s Carrie‘s basement.

Earlier that evening he saw ghosts and vampires passing along the street, some zombies were there too, and he wasn’t even startled, he is used to see things which aren’t there. But then he realized that these creatures were real - dressed up kids for Halloween.

Franny came home and dressed up as a witch, and there’s a jack o‘latern on the brownstone‘s outside stairs, albeit he‘s pretty sure Latisha made it and not Carrie.

 _Carrie_.

He remembers feeling her hand around his, and craving for her touch, that must have been right after waking up, when he was too weak to push her away. She stopped it. But sometimes she looks at him like she really - what? Cared? Knew? Wondered?

There’s a headache curling up behind his eyes and he knows he should try to sleep. But when he closes his eyes he hears the valve of the chamber hissing. So sleep is not really an option.

He remembers Max‘s words. And thinks he maybe should try. Couldn’t get much worse, right? 

He gets up with a groan, it’s almost midnight and he hasn’t heard any creaking floorboards above his head for quite a while, so she’s asleep and won’t be a witness to any embarrassing display of weakness.

Using a chair, he blocks the door to the small bathroom wide open. Starts the water and retreats to the bedroom, listening to the water running. Undresses. Opens a window, fresh air. Turns on the radio. Local station, news. Loud enough to hear it from under the spray. Holds his breath and returns to the bathroom. Steps under the spray, breathing rapidly. Feels the panic rising, ears ringing, vision fading to black, it’s a massive strain to keep breathing, _it’s just your fucked up brain, this is not happening now, just fucking breathe_ \- and that’s what he does then: breathe. And it works. Warm water running down his broken body, and he keeps breathing.

There’s a soap dispenser on the shelf which he can use with one hand, a clean and fresh smell fills the cubicle. Not the antiseptic hospital soap. Just shower gel, or shampoo.

Suddenly he feels an urge to scrub himself, wash away what’s staining him, and he pumps more soap, lathering his body, and again, and more, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks.

But he keeps breathing. 

He stands under the spray until the water gets cold. And then a little longer. Counting his breathing. His respiratory therapist would be so fucking proud.

Finally he turns the water off, and ten minutes later he has managed the feat of towling himself dry and getting dressed again, surprised by the amount of clothes he has to choose from. 

Typically Carrie, always getting ahead of herself - and him - so it’s not only sweat pants and baggy shirts but jeans, slacks, shirts and two pairs of boots as well.

He‘s too tired to contemplate if he feels offended or if he doesn’t care. 

Just when he’s about to crash on his bed again, he hears it. Subconsciously he‘s noticed the sound a while ago, and it’s just another indicator for how slow he is these days that he hasn’t reacted yet. 

A barking sound, a wheezing, someone‘s crying Carrie‘s voice, a child whimpers, Carrie again.

Quinn steps outside and there they are, Carrie holding Franny in her lap, a warm blanket around them, talking softly to the child who is coughing and apparently fighting for air.

„C-Carrie, w-what is it?“

„Ssshhh, baby girl, sssshhh, it’s Quinn. Just keep breathing,“ she whispered into Franny‘s red curls before turning her face towards him.

„Bronchiolitis. An inflammation of the bronchioles, the smallest air passages of the lungs. I gave he some salbutamol already but it didn’t get much better.“

„D-does she have that often? Bronch- that lung stuff?“

„We had some bad episodes in Germany. This is the first one here.“

„C-can I sit with y-you?“

„Isn’t it too cold?“

„No. I‘m f-fine.“

Franny’s next coughing fit interrupts their conversation, the little girl is writhing in Carrie‘s arms, she’s clearly in pain.

„Any-anything I can get f-for her?“

„Water. Tylenol. Bring another blanket please. The Tylenol is on the kitchen shelf. Bring the plastic syringe please.“

It takes him a while to find the requested items, Franny has four coughing fits while he is inside, and the dry coughing sounds immensely painful. 

When he’s back outside Carrie helps Franny to sit up and administers her medicine to her.

„T-Tylenol helps?“

„Yes. It does wonders. I should have given it earlier.“

„Isn’t it too c-cold here?“

„The cold air reduces the swelling and the mucous production. It would be much worse inside.“

Carrie yawns, and tries to roll her shoulders, Franny leaning against her again, two blankets around her now, her eyes half-closed.

„D-does she need a doc-doctor?“

„Maybe. I don’t want to take her to the ER in the middle of the night. So we‘ll try to get through the night here and then I‘ll take her in the morning.“

„Mommy, I‘m tired.“

„I know, sweet pea. Try to sleep. Mommy will sit with you. Remember when we slept on the balcony, back in Berlin?“

Franny‘s breathing makes a wheezing sound now but she hasn’t coughed for about a minute or two.

„Our yard is nicer.“

„That’s true,“ Carrie answered, kissing her daughter‘s head, „close your eyes now, little witch.“

„Can I wear my costume tomorrow again? I still need to do trick or treat with Quinn.“

„Of course.“

Quinn sits next to them, listening to their conversation, feeling the blanket brushing against his arm when Franny moves, and a thought begins to form at the back of his mind.

Carrie yawns again, tries to suppress it, and shifts a little, Franny‘s head now resting on her shoulder.

„I c-could sit with her. It‘s just s-sitting, right? N-no meds?“

„It’s fine Quinn. Thank you.“

Of course she doesn’t want that. What was he thinking.

„Mommy? If I sit with Quinn could you get Mister Pumpkin here? So we can see him? He‘ll keep the ghosts away.“

„Who‘s that, babygirl?“

„I‘m not a baby anymore.“

„I know,“ Carrie sighs, and Quinn feels the grief in that sigh, precious days passing, never to come back.

„Who’s Mister P-Pumpkin?“

„Our pumpkin. I made him with Latisha,“ Franny stops and needs to inhale, she’s shortbreathed, „Latisha says ghosts are up all night and Halloween costumes and laterns are meant to scare them away.“

Carrie sighs but Quinn answers first.

„That’s what p-people think. B-but the real st-story is this one,“ he shifts and stretches his leg, „On route home after a night's drinking, Jack encounters the d-devil and tricks him into climbing a tree. Always quick-thinking, Jack etches the sign of the cross in the bark, thus trapping the devil,“ Quinn pauses, sorting his thoughts, and Carrie finds herself holding her breath, mesmerized by the sound of his voice, for once not stuttering but fluidly telling her daughter that Celtic tale. 

„Jack strikes a bargain that the devil can never claim his soul. After a life of s- well, not being a good boy, Jack is refused entry to heaven when he dies. Keeping his promise, the devil refuses to let Jack into hell and throws a live coal straight from the fires of hell at him. It was a cold night, so Jack places the coal in a hollowed out pumpkin to stop it from going out, since which time Jack and his lantern have been roaming looking for a place to rest. So if you put up a latern tonight, you o-offer a p-poor fellow a p-place to stay, even f-for just one n-night.“

Carrie swallows, and then gently lifts her daughter over to Quinn‘s lap.

„I‘ll go and get the pumpkin.“

Back inside the house she leans against the wall, just a few seconds, she is exhausted, last night wasn’t good either, and the day and especially her conversation with Quinn earlier this evening took their tool.

She wanted to give him space, wanted to allow him to decide what he needs from her - and now all she can think is that she fucked it up. She left the basement because she didn’t want him to shoulder her fears and inhibitions on top of everything else he has to bear with. And yet she feels as if she left him alone.

When she comes back, the carved pumpkin in her hands, Franny is asleep. Quinn is sitting with his good arm around the little bundle snuggled up against his chest, and when she places the lantern on the table in front of them, she can see his face, more relaxed as she ever saw him since May. Or even before that.

„G-go to bed, Carrie. I’ll s-sit with her.“

„Quinn, I-,“ she starts but then reconsiders, „you sure? You‘ll call me if you need me? I‘ll lie down on the couch, just for an hour or two.“

„G-good night.“

————————

Carrie feels herself drifting into sleep, wondering how this is possible, how suddenly someone shares the burden of this night with her. 

_Not someone. Quinn._

She dreams of a lonesome wanderer, carrying a light and searching a home. And she knows that she could help him, if only he would listen to her. She sees the light flickering in a dark and cold night and knows he can’t hear her. If only she could talk. But she’s voiceless in that dream, so she can only watch the wanderer and the latern disappearing, and that fills her heart with an unbearable sadness. She wishes for him to come back and yet she knows all hope is lost, he‘ll be searching and never finding a place, and she missed her chance to save him.

It’s still dark when she wakes up, her cheeks wet from tears. 

Quinn’s sitting next to her, gently touching her shoulder.

„Carrie. Carrie. Y-you‘re dreaming. W-wake up.“

„Franny? Where’s Franny?“, her eyes are darting across the room, outside and back to him.

„Asleep. In her bed. She‘s fff-good. Nnno more coughing. D-door ajar so I c-can hear her.“

There he is, sitting next to her, after watching her sick child all night long, his eyes searching for any clue in her face, trying to read her like he used to, his own exhaustion making his aphasia worse again.

And she thinks that this might be their last chance, that he‘ll continue his journey, without her then, if she doesn’t manage to speak to him and if she doesn’t finally find her voice.

She feels her heart beating in her chest and she knows she is afraid. But she moves her hand, and before she even touches his him, he makes it easier for her. 

That’s their usual dynamic and that hasn’t changed.

She feels his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears.

„She‘ll be f-fi-, she’ll be okay,“ he whispers, and Carrie knows he’s scared too.

So she leans in and places a kiss on his cheek, knowing that it might be too much - and that it’s not enough.

She feels him stiffen, he‘s holding his breath, and the distant memory of the kiss they once shared breaks her heart into a million pieces.

„Carrie,“ he whispers, his hand still on her cheek, his fingers cold and callous.

„Yes,“ is her softly spoken answer, so sure now that this here and now is what she wants - and wanted for the longest time, all those years ago when he suddenly left.

So leans in and kisses him, a tender and careful kiss, her lips barely touching his, feeling him leaning into her touch, his hand at the nape of her neck now. When he finally kisses her back, he deepens the kiss, and she feels his longing, telling her she’s doing the right thing and that he‘s been waiting for her.

She breaks the kiss and moves away, just enough to look at him, and finds him looking at her, and it’s all in his eyes, he can’t hide it anymore, they took that away from him - love, fear, bewilderment, amazement, affection, insecurity.

„Come with me, Quinn,“ she hopes she‘s finding the right words, „this is the right moment, but not the right place.“

She kisses him again, and then she gets up and leads him to her room, serene and quiet now in the middle of the night.

There’s a small lamp on a chest of drawers, made from opaque glass, she bought it on a flea market in Berlin and never used it there, but now she switches it on and it illuminated the room with its soft light.

Quinn is still standing near the door jamb, looking at her and waiting for whatever she will do or say.

Carrie closes the distance and wraps her arms around him, yearning to feel him and to touch him.

There are no words she can say now, and she knows it so she just lifts her head and leans in to kiss him again. 

She feels his arm closing around her shoulder when she‘s parting her lips for him and loses herself in their kiss.

When they break apart Quinn is out of breath, and Carrie presses her cheek against his chest, enjoying to feel his warmth beneath her skin.

She steps back then and lits the candle which stands on a small sideboard, and when she turns around again she slowly starts to undress herself, her eyes never leaving his face.

Her pants, her cardigan and her shirt are gone, she‘s just wearing her underwear, reaching for the hem of his shirt, and after he clumsily pulled it over his head she helps him to peel it off his left arm.

Their kissing is urgent and passionate now, her hand slipping into the back of his pants, pushing them down, his hand following the delicate curve of her spine, down to her ass, cupping it and pressing her against him, no boxers, he‘s naked now, and a moment later her underwear is gone too.

She pushes him backwards, makes him sit on her bed and then she climbs into his lap, she‘s pressed against his length now, he kisses her with abandon, feels her starting to shimmy her hips, slow movements sending him into a state of profound yearning right away.

„Quinn,“ she sighs, „Quinn. I - We- We should talk. Obviously. But- I just need to know you still want this?“

He‘s not sure how to respond, she can see the confusion in his face, and blames herself for her fucked up timing. 

„Y-you don’t want it?“

There‘s a small quiver in his voice that breaks her.

„Of course I want this. God, Quinn, I‘m naked in your lap. What do you think brought me here? I‘m sorry. So sorry,“ she kisses him, once, twice, and once more, „of course I want this. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.“

„Can we st-stop talking then? I can’t t-talk and do _this_.“

This makes her laugh, and she breathes „Me neither“ and then they are done talking.

She’s straddling him now, his hand holds her hip when she’s lowering herself, his cock slowly pushing inside her. When she’s all the way down to the hilt, she stills, looking right into his eyes and then she starts moving again, bites her lower lip, her breathing hitches, and he knows he‘ll never stop loving her.

His hand is roaming over her body, mapping gentle curves, covering her left breast now, gently kneading it, mesmerized by the sounds she makes when he brushes his thumb over her nipple.

Quinn buries his face in the slope of her neck, upping the pace of his thrusts, moving in countermotion to Carrie, she’s rocking her hips faster now, knowing he’s nearly there when he tightens his grip around her shoulders, supporting her movements down, and she knows it won’t be long now, whimpers his name, making him look up to her. Carrie bends forward to kiss him, their kiss open-mouthed and urgent, and then she feels his hand finding her centre, a long finger circling her clit, making her cant her hips faster, into his touch, shorter movements, more, she enjoys to feel his chest vibrating when he moans her name against her lips, and his finger massaging her clit brings her there, her climax ringing through her core.

She knows Quinn‘s there too, feels him deep inside her, his thrusts are slower now, his warmth is spreading inside her, his mouth on her shoulder, sucking the skin of her neck, he whispers her name, and then he just holds her, breathing heavily.

Carrie knows she is crying but for once she doesn’t mind.

When they finally sink back on the mattress, Carrie curls herself up next to him, a hand splayed on his abdomen.

Finally Carrie thinks she found the right words and she hopes she’ll be able to say them.

„Quinn?“

„Uhm?“

„You asked me _Why_.“

„I d-did. Yes.“

„There’s a lot of things I need to tell you. Some will be difficult. And you have every right to ask whatever you want. But for the _Why_ \- this is why. I wasn’t ready to let you go. I was hoping for you to come back. Can that be enough for tonight?“

Quinn doesn’t answer for a long time. But his hand is caressing her back, and after a while he rolls on his side and pulls her into a tight embrace.

His voice is calm when he finally answers.

„Yeah, that’s enough, Carrie.“

He feels her slipping away after a while, just when he’s about to drift off, but when he tries to hold her back she bends down and kisses his cheek.

„Sleep. I‘ll take Franny to the doctor. We‘ll talk when I‘m back.“

He‘s awake long enough to see her blowing out the candle, and then he finally dozes off.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Elim_garak who kickstarted the idea for this fic.


End file.
